Dying Again
by Garden Octopus
Summary: Dying of old age, Gohan begins to dwell on the thought of being sent to heaven while his lover resides in hell. Piccolo likewise feels his despair, but what can these two possibly do to ensure their eternal afterlife is not spent in absolute misery?
1. Gohan: The Beginning of the End

Ok. This is my first fanfic _ever_, so bear that in mind. I'm really just trying to test the waters, so this is a very short "intro" of sorts to a story I have in mind. It will contain spoilers for both Dragon Ball Z and GT, so read at your own discretion (some things may not make sense if you haven't watched the entire series). It is a Piccolo/Gohan romance fic, so bear that in mind as well (as in: you may not see their love for one another as surpassing a father/son kind of thing, but I do - so please respect my fictional interpretation of these fictional characters' fictional relationship).

_Note on the content_: No vulgar language (maybe a "damn" or two?), no lemons, and no outright explicit content is intended. I'm going for romance and angst, here.

_Full Summary_: This fic takes place many, many years after the events of Dragon Ball GT. Gohan and Pan have outlived the rest of their family (disregarding Pan's offspring and husband), but Gohan's time on earth is coming to an end. Dying of old age, Gohan can think of little else but Piccolo: the beautifully strange namekian who had trained him in more than just physical ways. He continues to dwell on the thought of being sent to heaven, while his lover resides in hell. Piccolo likewise feels this despair, but what can these two possibly do to ensure their eternal afterlife is not spent in absolute misery? As Gohan's time draws near, he relives many of his memories with Piccolo while Piccolo rages and plots in the pits of hell for the chance to spend eternity with his beloved saiyan.

Without further adieu... I bring you my first fanfic! (Go easy on me! xp )

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><p>Gohan lay silently on his bed. The evening was just approaching, and his day had been filled with visits from his family, friends, and well-wishers from Satan City. Pan had been by not five minutes ago, but Gohan didn't like for her to see him in this state, and had feigned sleepiness to coax her into retiring for the night. At his own behest, he had been staying at the West City Hospice; he just couldn't bear the thought of tainting their home with his death. She had regretfully agreed, realizing that an argument would only speed along the inevitable. His condition was bad, although he didn't show it willingly. Pan would not have even realized something was wrong had he not sat her down one morning to discuss her life after his passing. But Gohan felt that his time was coming to an end, and he meant to accept his fate without argument or struggle. His life had been a good one. Both long and filled with happiness. Looking back, he would really only change one thing... but no, that was beyond his power, wasn't it?<p>

Gohan's eyes were closed, but the loud click of heels on the floor told him that the evening nurse had just arrived. She spoke softly to him, inquiring dutifully about his day, and letting him know that she would be near if he needed anything. Even his sharp, saiyan hearing had begun to fade in these last few months, and he scarcely understood her, but he nodded politely and kept his eyes closed.

He had done so much good, saved so many lives. He never regretted a moment of it... until now. Like his father before him, Gohan was surely destined for an eternity in heaven. Unlike his father, however, Gohan wasn't sure he wanted that.

"Piccolo..." Gohan's voice was faint, but the nurse knew what he had said. She had been warned when she first started her shifts watching over the man, not two days before, that Son Gohan had been having increasingly active nightmares, calling out in the night for a piccolo. Upon waking him, he had no recollection of his dreams, and the presence of a small flute on his nightstand had only served to cause him visible distress. The staff had ultimately decided to leave it be, not wishing to upset him in his fragile state, and reasoning that he could not very well play the instrument on his own anyway. Even so, she sensed something in the man's voice. A thought occurred to her, but she brushed it off. After all, who on earth would name their child Piccolo?

But Gohan was not asleep. He wanted to be awake for this, and refused to allow his body to slip into the sweet unconsciousness of sleep. His time was nearing an end, and all he could think about was the namekian he had unknowingly killed so long ago. His biggest regret and it had been completely out of his power to prevent it. He had spent years beating himself up, asking why he hadn't been strong enough to stop Baby from possessing him. Why he had allowed Goten to be possessed in the first place. In the end, though, he knew that he played no part in any of it. What happened, happened, and that was that. Piccolo had sacrificed himself valiantly for Gohan and the rest of the earthlings; remaining on earth in its final, fiery moments so that the black star dragon balls could be destroyed. At the time, he had been angry at him. How dare Piccolo leave him like this when he had promised he would always be there to protect him! Then he had confessed the reason why saving him would be pointless, the nature of his injuries, the identity of the one who had inflicted them… and Gohan finally understood: _He_ had done this. Possessed or no, _he_ had killed Piccolo. The anger he felt towards himself was unimaginable, and only his father's knowing comfort was enough to keep him going.

For a short while, he had come to accept his life without Piccolo. Videl and his mother never understood his feelings of loss, but at least he had Goku. But then his father had done something unforgivable: he had allowed Piccolo to be sent to hell in order to get back to earth himself. Goku had told him in private that there was no other option, but Gohan refused to accept that answer. He wanted to believe that there could have been another way. That Piccolo could still be waiting for him in heaven. The tension between the two faded, but his anger was still there. In his eyes, his father was responsible for what would be an eternity of heartbreak. But Gohan stayed strong for his family, and for the memory of Piccolo, if not for himself.

And now memory was all that was left. Videl, ChiChi, Goku, even little Goten, were all gone. Pan had started a family of her own, but it just wasn't the same. He was immensely happy for her, but he felt... disconnected. His time in the hospice had further served to widen the gap between him and his daughter's new life, something he didn't entirely regret. Most of his time was spent alone, in quiet contemplation, just waiting and wondering how much longer he had left. There were times when he had felt physically close to dying, but nothing topped what he felt now. There was no pain, but a burning, emotional certainty that he would not see the rising sun.

Gohan risked a glance at the nurse, sitting but five feet away, reading a book. She glanced back up at him and offered a smile coated in false joy. He struggled to show her the same courtesy, but even that mere physical exertion had caused him to grunt and sigh with exhaustion. The nurse immediately realized her folly and blushed, turning her head down apologetically. He closed his eyes again, and was greeted by the stern face of Piccolo. Gohan chuckled, as softly as his body would allow, and submitted to his mind's need to relive the past in his final hours.


	2. Piccolo: The Beginning of the End

A secondary introduction. It's meant to be brief (I'm sorry :[ ), but I think it works well with how I want the story to progress. I love Piccolo, and I hope I did him justice here. I tried to encompass his indifference and confusion when it comes to emotions, especially those regarding Gohan (and, consequently, love).

I really hope you enjoy it.

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><p>There it was again.<p>

That thing.

The thing that wasn't quite physical, yet you felt it all the same. It was there, but it wasn't.

What did they call it, again… ?

_Pang_. He clutched at his chest.

No.

_Throb_. He gritted his teeth.

Don't let this be.

He reached for a comparison that he could understand – one that he could at least put words to. Getting kicked directly in the chest was all he could come up with.

Leaning forward, his stiff body pleaded to be returned to its long-held position of meditation. He began to breathe heavily.

Somewhere in the far off distance of places long since visited, he heard his name.

Heard? No, that wasn't it. It was more like "that thing": there, but not. He almost understood it, but didn't deem it necessary to grasp at it. After all, so long as he knew it was there, why bother?

He forcibly calmed his breathing long enough to inhale deeply, releasing the source of this… thing with it, he exhaled, "Gohan…."

He knew what it was, or at least what it meant. He knew where it came from - _who_ it came from. But knowing those things did not help him in the slightest. It didn't make it go away.

Long ago, the boy had taught him what it was to feel. He had always viewed these lessons as more painful and far more frustrating than anything he had ever put the kid through. In a way, he was right. Heartbreak is never easy.

But how long had it even been? It seemed so long ago that he had only begun to accept their link as severed. Had he been wrong? Had it been there this entire time? Or was this even what he thought it was?

Piccolo stood up and slowly opened his eyes. It made no difference, it was so dark. It felt like it had been years since he had last stood up. Maybe it had been. Time was different down here. It didn't bother him, though. As a passing thought, he had once assumed the agonizing passage of time was meant to be a punishment for the damned souls who roamed about hell. Likewise on the bottom of his mind was the fact that he did not really belong here, didn't deserve this. Just another side effect of what he had simply come to call "Gohan". Was it worth it?

There it was again.

More powerful this time.

His chest was nearly heaving now, and he wasn't even certain why. He felt something wet sting his cheek and was only more confused when he found that his eyes were the source. It's not that he hadn't cried before, it was more that he had never cried out of self-pity. It felt disgusting. But why shouldn't he pity himself? He had done a great thing for a lot people. He had rightfully earned his place in heaven - so why the _hell_ was he here?

_Pang_… _throb_…

He doubled over, clawing his knees.

For the first time in a very long time, Piccolo cried freely. Despite all that he thought, it was not out of pity for his own situation; but rather regret, felt for the first time.

Gohan was dying.

Gohan. Is. _Dying_.

He could feel his pain, feel his sorrow, feel him calling out for him. The thought which he had been avoiding for what felt like centuries was now even closer than ever, and he wasn't even remotely prepared to deal with the reality of it.

And where was he? Rotting in hell because he didn't want the kid to be upset that his idiot of a father died. Goku… that bastard. Amidst his anger, he wondered if Gohan would have done the same thing. The things he did for...

There it was again.

A bolt of green, white, and purple shot off in the direction of the gates of hell.


	3. The Memory of That Night

_Note_: I wanted to split this chapter in two, but I just couldn't decide on a stopping point. :s So, here is a much longer chapter than the previous ones. I feel like I could do more... or at least something different with this, but I'm kind of eager to get it out there and hear what people think. ;o

_Yadda yadda_: This is a Gohan/Piccolo romance fic. You know the drill.

_Recap_: Gohan is in a hospice and reliving old memories between him and Piccolo during what he is certain is his final night on earth. Meanwhile, Piccolo has felt Gohan's nightly calls and has dashed off for the gates of hell.

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><p>…He closed his eyes again, and was greeted by the stern face of Piccolo. Gohan chuckled, as softly as his body would allow, and submitted to his mind's need to relive the past in his final hours…<p>

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><p>He had been so young at the time, and so frightened. The fact that his father was gone, and that he was meant to live the next year with this monster, was simply unbelievable. But in what felt like no time at all, he had discovered more about the world than his father could ever have taught him, and this "monster" was to thank for it. Even after his training with Piccolo, Gohan felt the urge to remain by his side. He was his faithful student, through and through, and before he even knew the words to describe what he was feeling, Gohan had fallen in love with him. Anyone would have told him it was a mere childish crush, brought on by circumstance; or that he was simply redirecting his need for a father figure onto the only thing he could. But Gohan knew better. Maybe, had it gone away as the years passed, he would have agreed, but there was something there that he couldn't let go. Before he knew it, his "childish crush" escalated into something deeper, more intense, and, most of all, secret.<p>

Gohan had feared his feelings would be rejected by Piccolo, considering his private demeanor, and had kept them to himself. But once he reached his teen years, it was all he could do to suppress his desire. His raging hormones demanded that Piccolo be near him during every waking moment, and his irrational mind made further demands that Gohan couldn't even keep up with let alone comprehend. His emotions ruled him, and he flirted shamelessly during their private lessons. But Piccolo always sent him home at the end of the day with a shamed look on his face and an insatiable loneliness.

Until one day Gohan felt he would burst if he could not have what he needed. His body screamed for something he didn't quite understand, but he allowed it to take control of his actions, choosing to rely on instinct where his foolish tongue had failed him.

It was during a private sparring lesson with Piccolo that he finally flew over the edge. After a full day of building up the necessary courage, he had convinced himself to shed all he knew of common sense, of decency, and of Piccolo.

( - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - )

Piccolo's clenched fist shot toward Gohan, and he swiftly dodged it, sending a counterattack towards the namekian's belly. Piccolo smirked as he caught his student's punch just in time, but was nearly caught off guard as another whisked past his face. He smirked, bearing his fangs in a manner meant to anger the young man before him.

"Hmph. Had I not seen it myself, I would never have believed you were the one who defeated Cell!" Piccolo grunted the last words as Gohan's fist came down at crushing speed towards his collar bone. Piccolo deflected it with ease.

Quieter, "You're out of shape, kid. What have you been doing?"

Gohan had still not responded, but his eyes reflected a twinge of annoyance. He paused, turned his head to the side, eyes closed, and laughed. He knew the drill by now, so he gave Piccolo exactly what he wanted. His eyes shot open and he was suddenly throwing punches at lightning speed.

Eyes momentarily wide with surprise, Piccolo began his own flurry of punches, but Gohan was too fast for him. Moving swiftly from side to side, Gohan avoided anything and everything Piccolo could throw at him. When Gohan felt he had made his point, he eased up a bit, allowing Piccolo to think that maybe the kid really was losing it. A blur of green towards the face. He didn't dodge it this time, however, he caught it. Gohan's grip around Piccolo's wrist was tight enough to make his eyebrows twitch in confusion. Gohan's face was easily readable, and what was there made Piccolo uneasy. Pure confidence was written boldly across Gohan's entire body. From the slight smirk on his face, to the way he held his body in the air - slightly above Piccolo, and looking down on him.

Piccolo met Gohan's eyes. This wasn't the kid he had trained way back when. This was the frustrated young man that had only just begun to surface in their recent days together. The young man who made suggestive remarks and attached a ridiculous innuendo to every little thing Piccolo said to him, none of which amused Piccolo in the slightest. He found this "Gohan" to be strange and immensely confusing.

Piccolo made to pull his arm away, still completely dumbfounded at the sudden change of mood, but Gohan yanked it back hard, forcing Piccolo forward. Body met body as Gohan's plan flew into action. His right hand still clenched around Piccolo's wrist, caught between their chests and sending waves of unnoticed pain throughout their bodies as knuckles dug into their skin. Gohan held the stare for only a moment, knowing that he did not have long before Piccolo regained his senses and turned his moment into something other than what he had planned. He pressed his lips hard into Piccolo's, completely uncertain of what to do next, but he received no response. He could feel the heat emanating from the man's cheeks as they burned, yet still... no response. The seven seconds that ensued felt like an eternity to Gohan, but for Piccolo, time no longer existed.

A drop of blood leaked onto his lips from Gohan's cheek. One of his blows had landed after all. Before his instincts could take over and his tongue could shoot out of its own accord to lick the sweet, intruding droplet, Piccolo came to his senses.

As abruptly as it had begun, their first kiss was over. Piccolo yanked back violently, pushing Gohan away in a panic. He absently brought a finger to his mouth, touching the blood there with an unintended amount of tenderness. They stared at one another: complete confusion meeting absolute desire. He looked down, back to Gohan, down again, staring frantically at everything he could as if hoping that some explanation would be written there for him. Something to tell him exactly what had just happened, detail by detail. Realizing that nobody could help him reach a rational conclusion, he brought his panicking eyes back to Gohan. Gohan returned his gaze, his desire now replaced with a silent plea. The confidence he had spent an entire day nurturing to such a strength had almost completely vanished in a manner of seconds. He did not even allow himself the pleasure of noticing that the mighty Piccolo had dropped his internal guards completely, his eyes nearly screaming of his emotional confusion. Piccolo turned in the air and was off in a heartbeat. But Gohan remained, staring at the place where Piccolo had been as he slowly descended to the ground, arm outstretched, and mouth agape.

Gohan tried not to cry, Piccolo hated it when he cried, but the tears came. He squeezed his eyes shut in defiance, but still they came. What a fool he had been. He had spent so many years repressing what he felt, convincing himself that it would be a dangerous thing if he let it slip, that he couldn't let it out for his own good. Had he honestly never taken into account that perhaps Piccolo just didn't feel the same?

Of course he had. He had doubted him numerous times, but there was always something there that defied his reason. From saving his life at the expense of his own, to the simpler things of their daily life together, Gohan had always found reassurances that Piccolo loved him back. His smile, for one. Who among the living could honestly say they had seen Piccolo's true, heartfelt smile? Then there was just the fact that he allowed Gohan to get away with so much. He had a feeling that if Goku had ever broken down crying in front of him over something as silly as not being able to see his daddy, Piccolo would strike him down right then and there; believing the world a better place with one less cry baby in it. The truth was, Gohan was completely certain that Piccolo returned every one of his feelings. Yet he had rejected him.

Had he? He allowed it to go on for as long as it did, and he had even blushed. Surely a sign that Gohan was acting on Piccolo's feelings as well, right?

Suddenly, a thought popped into Gohan's head. Piccolo may have grown up on earth, but wasn't there a chance that he had still not grasped the concept of defining one's own feelings? He recalled the day on Kami's Lookout when Krillin was being teased for his feelings about 18. Piccolo had clearly expressed his confusion towards love. But surely by now, if the feelings were even there, he could have at least identified them, couldn't he?

Gohan looked up at the spot where Piccolo had vanished. He knew it was dangerous to grasp onto this desperate straw of hope, but there was no possible way that Piccolo felt nothing for him, just no way!

He flew home, wanting to get a good night's sleep before confronting Piccolo the next day. It was early in the evening, and Chi Chi made a fuss about his health when he wished her goodnight. He ignored her worried tones and incessant knocking on his door, and fell to sleep rather quickly. His intention was to get up early, impress Piccolo with his promptness, and demand confidently that he explain himself.

But the namekian had only allowed himself a few hours of torture before taking the matter into his own hands.

The real world sounds of a window opening and closing merged with Gohan's dream world as his mind attempted to balance itself between conscious states. He was sitting in a desk, behind a large tower of books and papers. A large ruler came whirring down onto his hands as a distorted Chi Chi standing in front of a green backdrop with large fangs, slimy scales, and a long tail protruding out the bottom of her dress hovered over him. Her snake like tongue slithered out as she hissed at him, insisting that kissing some no-life delinquent would only interfere with his studies. As her head shot down to take a bite out of him, Gohan shot up in his bed, a terrified and breathy, "I swear!" escaping his lips. Piccolo smirked.

"Relax, kid," he whispered from the corner of Gohan's room. Only partially surprised, Gohan turned his head to face the man he was not yet prepared enough to speak to. Piccolo was not even looking at him. Instead, his eyes were closed, arms crossed, and head bowed. A typical Piccolo posture that made Gohan lower his head. Piccolo took the opportunity to get a look at the boy. No, not a boy. Gohan was what humans (half-breed or no) considered a "man" now, and he would do well to learn that.

Perhaps I might if he would stop acting like such a child, he thought, a little too loudly, recalling the tears Gohan had shed after he had flown just out of his sight the day before. Fortunately, Gohan was still dazed with sleep, and did not quite put the pieces of Piccolo's leaked thought together.

Gohan was sitting up in his bed, staring down at his hands which he held tightly together in his lap. He wore a white tank top and dark blue boxers to sleep, and the baby-blue striped blanket was tangled about his legs.

Piccolo looked back down, but uncrossed his arms and made his way across the room to stand at the foot of Gohan's bed. Gohan looked up at him, his unshielded, sleepy gaze all but breaking Piccolo's heart. He saw everything within those dark eyes: the fear of rejection, the joy of overcoming it, and the despair he had been left with as Piccolo fulfilled what he had convinced himself couldn't happen. He almost felt an apology on his lips when Gohan beat him to it.

"I'm... I'm so sorry, Mr. Piccolo," Gohan whispered. Piccolo noted the use of the formal title. It made his heart do that strange thing it did so often when he knew Gohan was unhappy. It was an unpleasant feeling, almost painful. He closed his eyes and turned his head quickly to the side to hide his expression. It was cute when he was younger, but now... Now things were different, and he didn't want to be "Mr." Piccolo. He just wanted to be... He let the thought trail off.

Gohan was trying desperately to keep his voice from cracking, knowing how angry that would make his beloved teacher. All of his plans for the next day fell apart as he spoke, and he felt worse the more he said, but it felt like it was what needed to be done, so he continued.

"For so long I-I had these feelings that I... that I... I wasn't even sure what they were at first. And then I was just... I was so sure..." He closed his eyes tightly, hoping to will his tears away, knowing he had said nearly nothing, but unable to get another word out.

Piccolo was at Gohan's bedside in one swift motion. He knelt on his right knee, and crossed his arms on Gohan's bed, resting his head atop them. His eyes remained closed, his furrowed brow the only betrayal of any emotion within him. Gohan stared at him, wondering if this was his signal to continue his aimless ramblings of uncertainty.

"Piccolo, I..." returning his gaze to his hands, Gohan attempted to retrieve some amount of the courage he had mustered upon his "revelation" the evening before. He continued, "I know you feel something for me. I can feel it. Not-not my feelings, I mean... I feel your feelings. For me... I think..." he finished uncertainly. When the namekian said nothing, Gohan added, "Maybe not... but maybe... maybe you just don't understand it. Maybe you-"

"Gohan." Piccolo stated between clenched teeth. Gohan stopped immediately. He knew Piccolo only used that voice when he needed him to just shut up. It was the tone Gohan was certain meant that Piccolo felt badly, in his own way, for making him pipe down, but it was necessary. Like the time he had whistled on and on, nearly paralyzing Piccolo's body completely. He whispered a soft, "Sorry" before becoming completely still and silent. Piccolo was visibly struggling for something, his mouth twitched and his nails dug into his arms. Gohan wanted to reach out to him, to tell him that he could say anything and he would understand completely, but he said nothing. Simply watched as Piccolo fought what had evidently been a tortuous war within himself since the moment Gohan had made his move.

The truth was, Piccolo hadn't come for talking. His mind was clearer when Gohan was near, and he wanted to take advantage of that now more than ever. Unfortunately, it was Gohan who had fogged it up to begin with, and coming here had only served to make it worse. But he couldn't help himself. Somehow, he had convinced himself that being closer to the source of his turmoil would help him sort things out. At least, that's how it works when your turmoil is Gohan. But now that he was here, he started to wonder if he had just been justifying a desire to be near the kid. His lip twitched at the thought.

While Piccolo appeared distraught and downright angry, Gohan was now completely unsure of what he had "known" before. On the one hand, Piccolo had fled his presence when he had kissed him, leaving Gohan alone and miserable. Had he felt what Gohan was sure he felt, he would have stayed and acted on those feelings. He would have deepened their kiss, made it a memory to be cherished, not doubted. Then there was this: Piccolo was here. He was uncertain of what to say, and clearly trying, but he was here. In his room, by his bed. And the most prevailing reason of all was his own feelings. He had been able to feel Piccolo since he was a child. Not just the ability to sense his ki, anyone could do that, but really _feel_ him. There were times when Piccolo would reach out to Gohan, and vice versa. In times of peril, times where Gohan could think of nothing but his fear of never seeing his friends and family again, Piccolo had spoken to him and appeared just in the nick of time. There was a deep connection between them that even Piccolo Daimao could not deny. Although he knew Piccolo would hold up his internal walls constantly, there were occasions where Gohan could catch glimpses into his mentor's mind; feeling his emotions. It was these moments Gohan called upon now to grant him courage and strength. But even so, the mind has a funny way of denying such things when they are called into question.

Piccolo moved as swiftly as he had done before, and was holding Gohan in half a blink of his eye. He sat on his knees, one nearly covering Gohan's lap, the other behind his back. One strong, green arm encircled his shoulders as the other caressed his head, bringing it towards his hard chest. He buried his nose in Gohan's wild hair, scowling at himself as he did it. What are you doing, Piccolo?

"Don't ever doubt me, Gohan," Piccolo whispered into the top of Gohan's head. Gohan's eyes widened. Of course Piccolo could feel his doubt. He had never mastered his emotional defenses, telling himself that there was never any reason to hide from the one person who had the ability to probe him. Even now there wasn't. So he let his emotions speak, simply feeling what his mind was unable to put into words. He brought his arms up to hold Piccolo's, and rested his chin on the namekian's warm, padded skin. He willed everything out of himself, imagining a path of thought and feeling extending from his fingertips and straight into Piccolo's heart.

Piccolo felt everything Gohan was giving him, soaking up every slight emotion he could grasp. He did not entirely understand most of them, but he felt them, and that was what mattered. It was over in a moment, but Gohan was left with an immense feeling of relief. He knew that Piccolo understood everything now. There was no reason for apologies, justifications, or explanations. His only fear was what would happen next.

Piccolo let out a deep sigh as he did what he had never done, would never do, for anyone but the saiyan nestled in his arms: he let go. He dropped his shields, pushing his mental being forward into Gohan. Gohan clenched at Piccolo's arm, digging his nails down hard, but Piccolo paid him no mind. He let everything flow into Gohan's mind in one large wave of unknowing intensity. Gohan was overwhelmed by the seemingly indifferent man's thoughts and emotions. Even he would never have thought Piccolo strong enough to hold all of this back. His eyes filled with tears as Piccolo shuddered and let loose the last of what he had to give.

"Don't ever doubt me... Gohan," Piccolo said once more, giving him a final squeeze before releasing him. And just like that, he was gone again.

Gohan had nothing left within him to spare towards Piccolo's sudden absence. He remained in the same position, clutching the air in front of his chest, and crying at nothing. This was how Piccolo felt. This was what he dealt with day after day, for years in Gohan's presence. There was so much confusion that it hurt Gohan's head as his mind attempted to sort it out. Using the words and knowledge he had learned on this earth there was no reason to any of it, and yet his body accepted it as rational. Piccolo's namekian mind no doubt functioned in an entirely different way than that of a demi-saiyan. Their momentary connection had allowed his mind to briefly adapt some of its reasoning, thereby accepting his emotions and the thoughts that accompanied them as nothing out of the ordinary. But as that connection faded, Gohan's mind was left with only the emotional turmoil that Piccolo had given him. He attempted to put words to these feelings, and came up with only a few which he still thought only partially encompassed their power: confusion, anger, frustration, and... love?

Yes! Piccolo may not have understood what it was, but his body still reacted to it, causing him to question himself.

Imagine, Gohan thought, feeling something so intense but being unable to understand why, to even identify it. I think I would explode.

Gohan gazed out his window, a tranquil look upon his face. Yet inside, his mind was racing and struggling, far too busy to really process anything he was looking at. He licked his lips, noting the taste of blood in his mouth. Blood... ? Where - A sudden, cool breeze made its way into his room, snapping him back into reality. At last he realized that Piccolo had left him, but he wasn't troubled. If anything, it was what he expected. He hadn't been bothered by Piccolo's cold personality since that first year he had met him. It was just a part of him he had come to accept. In a way, he really liked that about Piccolo. He was always the first to see unbiased reason. Not to mention it meant that nobody would ever know him the way he did.

His Piccolo. His secret.


End file.
